


Red Sky at Morning

by WinterWidow94



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, F/M, Hydra, Private Investigator, SSR, noir
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-05-31 16:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6476713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterWidow94/pseuds/WinterWidow94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a Captain America noir AU, Private Investigator Peggy Carter teams up with a reluctant partner, mercenary James Barnes, to investigate a rash of killings across New York. Killings done with a shield, no less....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Initio: 6:37 p.m.

"Of all the ten-dollar-a-week offices in all the run-down buildings in all the seedy sections of a great city, the pretty blonde man had to walk into mine. He was a stranger to these parts, I could tell; too naïve to be from anywhere but a small Midwestern farm— ."  
"Cut it out, Marge." Jack Thompson, chief of the Strategic Scientific Reserve, was no stranger to this particular office - although he never bothered to make an appointment. "It stopped being funny the first time."  
"Oh, I don't know." Peggy propped her feet up on her desk, the black patent leather of her shoes gleaming in the light of her desk lamp. "Turnabout's fair play, Chief Thompson. You barge into my office without an appointment, and I shall treat you however I please."  
He paused, twisted his mouth a little. Then he shrugged and turned back toward the door. "Well, if you don't want the case, I’m sure the boys and I can handle it."  
"If you and 'the boys' can handle it, then why bother bringing it here?" Interested in spite of herself , Peggy watched the briefcase he held like it was a living thing, capable of running out the door at a moment's notice.  
"Because," he said, turning back around, "our plate's already full, what with new 'Hydra' group running around kicking up dirt."  
"Oh, really?" Peggy's eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. "I hadn't thought they were much of a threat."  
"Well, they're not, so far," he admitted, "but Agent Sousa seems to think they have a bigger agenda. He's been all up on me trying to get me to investigate and dig a little deeper, so I thought I'd just pass one of the smaller, more enjoyable cases off to you." He watched her, his eyes twinkling ever-so-faintly - or maybe it was the dim lighting.  
Peggy removed her feet from her desk and straightened her posture. "Chief Thompson," she began, "whenever you label a case as 'small' and 'fun,' both words turn out to be huge exaggerations."  
"Hey," he began, but she held up a hand, interrupting him. "However, I have nothing else to do at the moment, so hand it over."  
He squinted, as if having second thought. "Against your better judgment?"  
"Chief Thompson," said Peggy, "every interaction we have is against my better judgment. Do you want me to take this case off your hands or not?"  
He hoisted the briefcase onto the desk and pressed his thumbs against the numbered sequence, unlocking it. "She's all yours, Marge," he said, turning the case around so the open half faced her. "Call me if you get anywhere."


	2. 8:57 p.m.

She was so deeply engrossed in the files spread before her that Peggy jumped when someone knocked on the door. "Who is it?" she called, closing the nearest folder.  
"Oh, just your friendly neighborhood working mom, here to pick her daughter up from kindergarten," said a muffled voice.  
Peggy smiled. "Come in, Angie."  
Angie Martinelli opened the door, hand already on hip. She was still in her work clothes, although the apron was gone. "What do you think you're doing?"  
"Working," said Peggy, stacking the folders in a neat pile.  
"Miss 'I like my job because I can call it quits and go home early?' Must be something good." Angie's gaze fell on the pile of folders on Peggy's desk. "What's all that?"  
"Just a little gift from the SSR," said Peggy, surreptitiously sliding the folders back into the briefcase and closing the lid. As it snapped shut, she realized Chief Thompson had not given her the combination, and she had effectively locked the files away from herself. "Oh, bollocks."  
"Geez, English, watch your language."  
"Oh, please." Peggy waved a hand in Angie's direction. "Like that's anything new. Anyway, I just effectively locked these files away, and I failed to get the combination from Chief Thompson."  
"So call him and get them." Angie shrugged, then added, "Unless he's gone home already, like any sane person would."  
"What do you mean? What time is it?"  
"Look at the clock, Peggy."  
Peggy twisted in her chair. The clock mounted on the wall stated the time: 8:57 p.m. "Good lord, I really did work overtime today."  
"Yeah, three hour's worth. Too bad you don't get paid for it," said Angie.  
"All right, point taken." Peggy sighed and stood up, her cramped muscles reminding her of how badly she'd treated them all evening. She picked up the briefcase and glanced at the phone. She knew Thompson was probably still in the office - he had no social life to speak of; at least none that she'd ever seen.   
It took her five seconds to decide against calling him.  
"What, not gonna try?" asked Angie, halfway to the door.  
"No." Peggy tossed her hair and straightened her shoulders. "It's a simple briefcase, albeit a locked one. I've opened locks before, and I'll open this one without the SSR."  
Angie regarded the case with longsuffering. "Sorry, pal. You look expensive, too."  
"I'll just tell Chief Thompson it was an accident," said Peggy, and breezed out the door ahead of Angie. "Are you coming?"  
Angie slipped out of the room, and as Peggy locked the door, Angie cleared her throat and said, "So, are you gonna tell me what it's about?"  
Peggy knew perfectly well what Angie meant, but she played it coy, unsure how much she could tell without bringing SSR's wrath down upon her head. "What what's about?"  
Angie rolled her eyes and lifted her hands in abrupt defeat. "All right, I get it. It's top secret and you can't talk about it."  
"Unfortunately, yes. Chief Thompson actually looked a bit reluctant to pass this one off to me, so he must think it's of some importance."  
"Do you think it is?"  
Peggy hesitated in the middle of the hall. The other offices in the buildings would be empty by now, and she did not have to worry about anyone overhearing her, but still…she went the tactical route. "A few murders," she admitted, "but I wouldn't worry about them. You don't seem like the type this particular killer goes after."  
"Hot brunettes aren't his type?" Angie teased. "Looks like we're both safe, English. What type does he go after? Do I need to warn any friends?"  
"Not unless your friends have dealings in the criminal underworld."  
"Hmm." They walked toward the front door. As they stepped out into the thick, warm summer air, Angie said, "Nah, not that I can think of. Thanks for the warning."  
"Anything for a friend," said Peggy. She gave Angie a brief smile before looking down at the briefcase in her hand. Sixteen gruesome murders in a month - each done in exactly the same way. Every victim a member of the criminal underworld. Truth be told, she was inclined to believe the killer was helpful, perhaps even necessary…  
But it wouldn't matter how she felt if she couldn't get the briefcase open.   
First things first.


	3. Shut Case: 1:13 a.m.

It was hard to sleep with the briefcase sitting on the floor, propped up against the dresser. It had remained stubbornly shut, in spite of Peggy's best efforts to open it with a variety of methods and tools (prying it open with a nail file, stepping on the pressure hinges, applying a blowtorch).   
Now the clock read 1:13, and Peggy lay with her head propped up on her hand, glaring at the briefcase. "What are you looking at?" she asked, with the distinct feeling that wherever Chief Thompson was, he was laughing at her. Thirty seconds later, she sighed and sat up, pushing the covers back and switching on the lamp.  
She knelt beside the briefcase and turned it over, studying the now-battered exterior for some new way of getting it open. As she stared at the case, she mentally went over the files she could remember. She had pored over the first two files for hours, and barely glanced at the remaining three - thinking, of course, that she would have enough time to give them all proper inspection.  
"Until you shut the bloody case like an idiot," she said aloud, pushing her hands back through her hair. "All right. Think."  
The first case file was heavily redacted, with readable sentences scattered here and there. She remembered the name Abraham Erskine. She remembered the weapon being described as round and flat, 'like one of the flying-disc toys' (which she thought a very amusing, if unprofessional, description).   
She vividly remembered the two black-and-white photos attached to the first file - the body of a man crumpled across a sidewalk. The second picture showed his head, exactly twenty-three feet away from the body. The 'flying disc' had apparently decapitated him.  
And therein entered the suspect, if you could call a sparse description of a man few people had actually seen a 'suspect.' It was a series of vague hints cobbled together, really, but they created the impression of a Caucasian man, six feet or possibly taller, with broad shoulders. The second folder was a list of 'eye witnesses,' and their hastily constructed descriptions ranged from 'he had black hair' to 'it was a very tall woman.'   
Most of the descriptions had been tagged with the note 'unreliable,' written in Thompson's bold scrawl. These descriptions were ones that didn't match up, that held no common denominators with the others. Several of the Peggy was inclined to dismiss herself - particularly the one stating the killer was one of H. G. Wells' Morlocks, seeking food. Next to this one Thompson had begun to write something, but looked as if he had given up and simply marked it with an X.  
'Think of dates. What date would Chief Thompson use as a combination?'  
Peggy groaned. He was an ass, but he was too smart to use an easily thought-of date as the combination to a secure briefcase.   
She was just about to throw up her hands and put off dealing with the briefcase until the next day when someone screamed from the street below.


End file.
